


where you stay I will stay

by mercuryhatter



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Biblical References, Established Relationship, Fluff, Historical References, M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Pet Names, Post-Canon, Queer Culture, Queer History, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), established 1020 CE to be exact, hundred guinea club, the discreet gentlemen's club in Portland Place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 04:03:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19243465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryhatter/pseuds/mercuryhatter
Summary: this comment sums it up so it’s the summary now: “Aziraphale's way of giving him and buckaroo name of Crowley names of Naomi and Ruth truly does prove love is real. Their trot of thousand year old marriage and apologizing long after the fight is over is beautiful on this and all timelines, and I will use this Tingler-containing fanfiction to beat back the scoundrels of the Void.“ -regencysnuffboxes





	where you stay I will stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [regencysnuffboxes (malicegeres)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malicegeres/gifts).



“Hey, Aziraphale,” Crowley called across the room. He was curled in the sunny windowseat, stabbing at the keys of a laptop with one finger, while Aziraphale sat in an armchair in the opposite corner, half-absorbed in a trashy romance novel.[1] Aziraphale hummed vaguely in answer, so Crowley chucked a throw pillow at him to get his attention. “Come  _look_  at this, angel.”

[1] Crowley thought it was a sign of how well their marriage was doing post-apocalypse that Aziraphale no longer felt the need to hide his gay waistcoat-rippers inside some stately tome from 1734. If he’d looked closer, he might have noticed that Aziraphale had branched out from period pieces to the works of two-time Hugo nominated author Dr. Charles Tingle. Aziraphale was rather counting on him not to think to look closer.

With a put-upon sigh, Aziraphale deliberately marked his place, placing the book on the side table with the dinosaur on the cover facing downwards, and came over as beckoned. He moved Crowley easily and slid half-underneath him in order to fit on the windowseat, peering over his shoulder at the computer screen.

“Oh, yes,” he said after a moment. “That  _was_  my club, how lovely of them to feature it.” The webpage was the U.K. LGBT Archive, open to one of its daily queer history features for the month of June. Today, the 21st, was the Hundred Guinea Club, a certain discreet gentlemen’s club in Portland Place where an angel had made celestial history learning to gavotte.[2] Aziraphale reached around Crowley to scroll for a bit, resting his chin on Crowley’s shoulder.

[2] Among other things most angels didn’t know how to do.

“Those  _weren’t_  their real names, dear things,” he murmured at one point, coming across the names of two telegraph boys. Crowley snorted.

“What, Henry Newlove and Charles Thickbroom? No, I didn’t think so.” Aziraphale scrolled further, beginning to hum the opening bars of a gavotte under his breath, behind a small, reminiscent smile.

“Oh, it was lovely. A little rowdy after they put out the lights at two, but just lovely before that. The  _dancing_ ,” Aziraphale sighed. He sounded so happy that Crowley didn’t even particularly want to make fun of him for it, and just leaned his cheek against Aziraphale’s head on his shoulder instead.

“Hang on,” he said, stopping at a scan of a guestbook page. “You never told me, which one was you?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. Crowley turned his head to see him blushing and grinned.

“ _Angel_. Shall I guess, or would that be worse for you?” Aziraphale groaned and buried his face in Crowley’s shoulder.

“Go on, then, guess,” he mumbled, and Crowley’s grin grew wider.

“Let’s see. We all know Victoria, of course. Betsey, Henrietta, Georgiana,  _Chastity_ , that’s rich, and Temperance too, particular friends of each other, I imagine? A few Elizabeths, not particularly creative… oh.” Crowley nudged Aziraphale until he peeked up from his place hidden in Crowley’s sweater. “Aziraphale.”

“No, dear, I didn’t put that one down.” Crowley huffed in fond exasperation.

“No, honey, you put Naomi.”

“So I did.”

“And… I don’t see a Ruth.”

“No,” Aziraphale sighed. “No, I paid them an extra hundred pounds a year to hold that one for me.”

“For you or for…”

“Yes, all right, for  _you_ , you old serpent,” Aziraphale said, wiggling out from beneath Crowley to dump him back on the cushions. Crowley was looking at him with a curious expression, parts of him pulling somewhere between love and amazement, with a touch of regret. “Are you happy?”

“I’m _sorry_ is what I am, angel,” he said, so sincerely, eyes unhidden and wide. “You know I didn’t…”

“Yes, well. It was all right in the end, wasn’t it? Just because we’re married doesn’t mean we have to be together all the time,” Aziraphale said stiffly. Crowley stood, a fluid, bones-optional motion, and took both Aziraphale’s hands into his.

“No, but it does mean that it’s not fair for one of us to disappear for a whole century with only a three line note of warning,” Crowley said softly. “And I’m sorry. Accept it or don’t already, would you?”

“Of course I accept it,” Aziraphale said at last, looking down at their joined hands. It was unclear who pulled whom into an embrace first, but however it happened they were soon wrapped around each other, swaying slightly though there was no music but the faint sound of birds in the garden outside. They stayed that way for a long time, warm and secure.

_The next week_

Crowley came onto the front porch with a steaming plate of apple tarts balanced carefully in one hand, a teapot and cups balanced rather more improbably in the other. He set them down on the low table smoothly enough before draping himself over Aziraphale’s shoulders to kiss him.

“All right, Naomi?” he asked, nipping just a bit at the soft curve of Aziraphale’s jaw. From his angle, he couldn’t see the barely-suppressed beam that spread across Aziraphale’s face, but he could feel the muscles move below his lips.

“All right, Ruth dear,” he murmured, and craned his neck to capture Crowley’s lips with his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Neil Gaiman’s recent tumblr post saying that the club where Aziraphale learned to gavotte was well known 19th century gay club the Hundred Guinea Club, where men would give pseudonyms under women’s names. Information about the Hundred Guinea Club, as well as “Victoria” (Prince Eddy of Wales) and the names of the two telegraph boys is from an entry on the website of the Oscar Wilde Society.


End file.
